


Hyacinthus

by middleairprince



Series: Artemisia absinthium [4]
Category: Persona 2
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middleairprince/pseuds/middleairprince
Summary: Akinari recounts a tale of gods and love and tragedy to his son.
Series: Artemisia absinthium [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605016
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Hyacinthus

The door to Papa’s study was open, and so Jun sneaked in, as quick and as quiet as a rabbit.

He found his father sitting at his desk, working through papers, marking lines in red pen, the lamplight next to him suffusing the rest of the room in a warm glow. He had his reading glasses on.

Papa’s study was probably Jun’s most favorite place in the whole house- Papa had decorated it with an astrology tapestry on one wall, star charts and mythological pictures and scenes and illustrative posters on the other, and he had strange statues and artifacts on his desk and on the bookshelves that Jun could probably look at forever. And the books on those shelves were always so interesting, books full of stories about gods of all cultures and heroes and monsters, and about astrology and geology and many other kinds of ‘ologies’ as well. 

It always smelled of incense and candles in here, though Papa usually didn’t light any while Jun was around. It was a shame, though, because he really quite liked that smoky, yet delicate smell, and the way it mingled with the smell of the books and their pages. In this way, Jun came to think of the smell of his father’s study as the smell of _knowledge_.

Jun figured it was probably the only place in the house that Mother didn’t get to make the call on decor. She didn’t spend a lot of time in here unless she was trying to pull Papa out.

Jun continued to sneak on by without a word, walking over to a stack of thick books in the corner. He knew he wasn’t supposed to bother Papa while he was working… But if he stayed quiet and went without notice, there’d be no problem. 

One by one he removed the books from the stack and set them aside in a new stack. He had to lift them with both hands since they were so big and heavy. Carefully… Quietly... On the penultimate book his fingers slipped. It fell to the worn hardwood floor with a slam.

“Jun?” His father stirred at the sound.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and crouched to make sure none of the book’s pages were creased, and he set it back on the opposite stack. “Didn’t mean to drop it.”

“Make sure to be careful next time...” Akinari trailed off as he set his pen down and turned around in his chair to watch Jun as he opened the last book on the floor. The books in the stack were all his father’s books, of course. Titles like “Teachings of the Mystics”, and “Answering the Contemplative Call” and “Elementary Treatise of Occult Science”. He’d lent them and the corner space of his study to Jun for a very special purpose...

He carefully pried the bottommost book open to two sheets of parchment paper nestled in between the pages. It was there that he found his dried, pressed daisies, dandelions, morning glories; rhododendron flowers, pansies and forget-me-nots… Jun looked over his bounty with satisfaction, gingerly inspecting the flowers he’d left to dry many weeks ago. Their faded colors were not the same as they’d been when he’d put them between the pages, but Jun found that they held a different sort of charm to them now. They wouldn’t wilt and rot away now, for one. 

It was a bit of a tradeoff. Bright, vibrant colors that only last so long, or faded colors that one can keep for much longer. Jun found that he liked getting to have both, though by winter all he’d have were the pressed ones, at least for the season. He wondered what he would do with them now… They could go in a frame, or in a locket, something like that...

The sudden sound of gentle music starting to play roused Jun’s attention away from his pressed flowers. He looked up to see his father standing at his record player, off to the side of his desk. So he’d distracted him from his work after all...

“...Thought I’d put something on. How did they turn out?” Papa asked him.

Jun looked at his flowers, and back to his Papa. He thought they’d turned out awfully nice, but it was important to see what his Papa would think.

“Come look,” he said, picking the book up onto his knees for him to see.

And Papa came and knelt in front of Jun and rubbed his chin as he looked over the pressed flowers.

“They’re very pretty,” he said. He tried to flip one of the pansies over so he could see its ‘face’ but his fingers fumbled over it and made the flower crease and break apart. 

“Oh no.. I’m sorry, Jun. They’re rather gentle, aren’t they…?”

“...Make sure to be careful next time.” Jun said back, trying to keep his face stern.

“Of course, of course.” He gave Jun’s back a firm pat. His hands really were a lot larger than Jun’s own, big and thick, knobbly fingers that were clumsy, and not so suited to delicate tasks like handling pressed flowers but quite skilled at writing, though his father’s handwriting was also rather messy. Jun always wondered if his hands would ever be so big.

“Can I make it up to you with a story?” Papa asked, revealing a book he’d been holding in his other hand, hidden behind his back. 

“Maybe...” Jun said. “Only if the story is really good.”

He closed the book with the pressed flowers carefully, placing the rest of the heavy books back onto it. Once he was done with this he got up from the floor to settle into the big, paisley-printed armchair opposite from the bookcase. It was quite a comfy chair, though it dwarfed him entirely. Jun let his eyelids fall closed for a moment, and he listened to the music Papa had put on. He couldn’t understand the words- he knew they were in english nonetheless, but he liked the timber of the singer’s voice, their husky crooning, the smooth, gentle rhythms of the guitar mixing with the soft playing of piano. 

When he opened his eyes, Papa had already come over, sitting on his antique trunk just next to the chair.

“A really good one, huh… It’ll have to be the Greeks then, won’t it, Jun?” He asked as he leaned over one of the arms of the chair and brought the book to rest on the end of it so that Jun could see the illustrations.

“It has to be.” Jun nodded solemnly.

“Then so it shall be.” Papa said, in just as fake-serious a tone as Jun’s. He ran his finger down the index, stopped his finger on one, and flipped the page to the number quicker than Jun could read which one he’d picked.

“I will tell you the tale of Hyacinthus…” He began, as Jun listened, rapt. “‘Whom the gods love die young’- is a statement often proven true by these stories of men and women loved by the gods.” 

“To those deemed worthy of companionship with the divine seems to come no good fortune… But is a life touched by god-given happiness truly a pitiful one, when a person could go their whole lives, dully, without ever knowing such a fullness of happiness?” 

And Akinari looked up from the book as he said this, shifting from the more even tone he used when reading a story to his average cadence. 

“What do you think about that? Would you want to live a short, exciting life, touched by incredible happiness unlike anything else? Or would you rather live for a long time, even if you’re not guaranteed to ever know that kind of intense happiness?”

Jun frowned. He wasn’t sure what the right answer was, what he was supposed to say.

“I don’t know. What would you choose, Papa?” He asked instead.

“Hmmm…” He tapped his chin. “I wouldn’t have known what to choose when I was your age, that’s for sure. I hadn’t lived long enough yet to know what I wanted. When I was younger, I might’ve preferred a happier, shorter life, but now…”

Jun mulled the question over for himself, narrowing his eyes as he thought. 

“I think I’d want to live for a long time and get to be very happy for that long time, too. I’d want to make sure that everyone else could live as long and be as happy as me, too.” He said, kicking his feet at the edge of the armchair.

“That’s a pretty good answer!” Papa said, and he leaned in closer and ruffled Jun’s hair, his voice breathy with laughter the way Jun loved to hear most of all. “I’d like to live a long, happy life with you, too. I’m sure that in today’s modern world we can find a way to make it happen!” 

And maybe his father was teasing him a little, but Jun grinned and leaned his head into Papa’s arm. “Keep reading!”

“Alright… Where was I--” He looked back to the page.

“Yes- Hyacinthus was a young man from Sparta, the son of Clio, the muse of history, and a human man. Whether he inherited it from his mother or father, or even by the grace of the gods themselves, he was gifted with a profound beauty.

“One day the god Apollo, riding his chariot on its sure and steady round, happened to see the youth by chance. He saw that not only was Hyacinthus as graceful as the fairest of maidens, he was strong and muscular as well, an athletic beauty untouched by illness or foul vice.

“And when Apollo spoke with him, he found that the face of Hyacinthus did not belie the heart within him, and gladly he felt that he had found the perfect companion, joyous and courageous, whose mood was always ready to meet his own.

“When the desire to hunt struck Apollo, it was Hyacinthus’ clear voice that called the hunting hounds. If Apollo deigned to fish, it would be Hyacinthus who brought the nets and threw himself wholly into chasing and landing the silvery fishes. When Apollo wished to climb the mountains, to heights so lofty and lonely that not even the eagles dared to break the silence with the beating of their wings, Hyacinthus was ready and eager for the climb. 

“And when, on that mountain top, Apollo gazed in silence over the endless space, watching the silver chariot of his sister rising slowly into the deep blue of the sky, silvering land and water as she passed, it was never Hyacinthus who was the first to speak the words that would break the spell of nature’s perfect beauty, enjoyed in perfect companionship.”

“There were also times that Apollo would play his lyre, when only the music of his own making could sate his longing. When those times came, Hyacinthus would lay at the feet of his god-companion, and he would listen, with eyes full of rapturous joy, to the music that Apollo made. He was indeed a perfect companion to the sun-god.”

There was a lull in Akinari’s retelling of the story as he paused for a breath. In that lull, Jun nearly didn’t raise his voice, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“...Papa, have you ever had a companion like that?”

Jun watched as a complicated expression that he couldn’t quite put an emotion to crossed over his father’s face. 

“Well…” He said haltingly, not meeting Jun’s eyes, still looking over the words of the book. “Of course. Your Mama and I are together like that. But love looks different… between two regular people, when compared to the short love between a god and his perfect companion.”

“Oh.” Jun said. “So Hyacinthus and Apollo are lovers?” 

The relationship between his mother and his father was certainly not as harmonious as the one Papa described in the story. Jun would see them kiss, and hug, and he knew that most nights they slept in the same bed, but… 

Maybe that was part of that earlier question. A short, intense love versus one that stretches thin over time. 

Jun didn’t like that thought.

His father blinked and looked up from the book, back at Jun.

“That is the easiest way to put it, yes. They _were_ lovers, of a kind.” He traced the words on the page. “I told you before how greek philosophy had a concept of many different forms of love- I think that the love between Apollo and Hyacinthus would be ‘agape’. An unconditional love, like ‘the love of god for man, and the love of man for god’.”

“I see...” Jun said, holding the sides of his face with his hands. He hoped, quietly, and close to his heart, that one day he would have a companion like Apollo and Hyacinthus had each other. And that he’d get to keep them, that it would not be so short a love shared.

He also hoped, a little miserably, that he would find some friends, too, because the other kids at school never seemed to understand him. Friends, or companions, or lovers… It didn’t matter so much yet, especially since Jun knew he was a little young for the latter.

His Father continued reading as he silently hoped. “As it was- Apollo wasn’t the only one who sought companionship with the young Hyacinthus. Zephyrus, the god of the southern wind, had known him and his beauty before Apollo had crossed his path and had long desired his companionship. But he had no chance against the bright and handsome Apollo. He watched Apollo and Hyacinthus’ love grow, and as it grew his own jealousy grew into hatred, and hatred whispered to him of revenge.

“Hyacinthus excelled at all sports, and when he played the discus it was sheer joy for Apollo, who loved all beautiful things, to watch as he stood to throw, his taut muscles akin to the visage of Hermes setting off in flight. Hyacinthus could throw farther than even Apollo, and his merry laugh when he succeeded made the god feel that neither man nor god would grow old.

“And so came the day, ordained by the fates, that Apollo and Hyacinthus would play a match together.

“Hyacinthus made a valiant throw, and Apollo took his place, and threw the discus high and far. Hyacinthus ran forth, eager to match the distance, shouting with excitement over a throw that had indeed been worthy of a god.

“And so the opportunity for Zephyrus arose. The chattering southern wind ran through the treetops and struck the discus of Apollo with a cruel hand. It dashed and struck against the forehead of Hyacinthus, smiting the locks that fell against it, crashing through skin and flesh and bone, felling him to the earth.

"Apollo ran towards him and raised him in his arms, attempting all manner of medicine known to the god. But the head of Hyacinthus fell over the god’s shoulder, like the head of a lily whose stem is broken. His red blood gushed to the ground in a thick stream, a darkness passed over his eyes, and with the flow of his blood the gallant young soul passed away.

““If only I could die for you, Hyacinthus!” Cried the god, his heart near breaking. “I have robbed you of your youth. Your suffering is my crime. I shall sing of you forever- oh, my perfect companion! And evermore shall you live on as a flower, one that will speak spring to the hearts of men, of everlasting youth… of life that lives forever.”

“As he spoke, flowers sprung up from the blood-drops at his feet, blue as the sky in spring, yet hanging their heads as if in sorrow.”

His father turned the page, and Jun looked upon the illustration, a painting of a man mourning over a great blue crest of hyacinths.

“And still, when winter has passed, and the song of the birds tell us of the promise of spring, if we go to the woods, we still find traces of the vow of the sun-god. The trees are budding in soft hues, the willow branches are decked with their soft, silvery buds. The larches, like slender dryads, wear a feathery garb of tender green, and under the canopy of the woods the primroses look up like fallen stars. 

“Along the woodland path we go, treading on fragrant pine needles, and on the beech leaves of last year that have not lost their radiant amber. And, at a turn of the way, the sun-god suddenly shines through the great dark branches of the giants of the forest, and before us lies a patch of exquisite blue, as though a god had robbed the sky and torn from it a precious fragment that seems alive and moving, between the sun and the shadow.

“And, as we look, the sun caresses it, and the south wind gently moves the little bell-shaped flowers of the wild hyacinth as it softly sweeps across them. So does Hyacinthus live on; so do Apollo and Zephyrus still love and mourn their friend.”

Akinari closed the book and sat back against the wall. He looked over to Jun without a word more than the end of the story.

Jun let the lush visions of spring fall away from his mind, the effects of his father’s study coming back to him. The soft record music faded back in, the previous track having ended, serendipitously, as Papa had finished reading the story. Piano and guitar in smooth cooperation came back to him as he inhaled and smelled incense and aged paper once again, banishing the scent of new pine growth and spring rain that his active imagination had conjured up for him. He opened his eyes, and his brow immediately furrowed.

“That’s the end?” He asked, finally.

“An end that continues on today, as long as the hyacinth still blooms in the spring.” 

“But it’s not right.”

“How so?” Akinari tilted his head as he asked.

Jun fisted his hands at his sides, indignation making his voice turn upwards. “Zephyrus shouldn’t get to mourn Hyacinthus. Not when he was the one who caused his death.”

“But Apollo was the one who threw the discus that killed him.” Jun’s father spoke calmly. “By your logic, shouldn’t he also not be allowed to mourn him?” 

“He didn’t do it on purpose, but Zephyrus did, and he made Apollo think he killed him, too. That’s unforgivable.”

Jun’s father set the book aside. “But did you know, Jun? This is just one version of the story. In another version, there is no Zephyrus, only Apollo who threw the discus too hard, and Hyacinthus who was too eager to catch it.”

Jun’s face fell as his mind leapt to reconstruct the story with these different details. That was actually one of the things he tended to like about greek myths- how flexible, and open to interpretation they were. There could be a dozen different versions of one story, a dozen different colors to dye the emotions and meanings of every event. 

Akinari continued before Jun could think of something more to say. “I think I like the version with Zephyrus the most, though. It gives a clear cause and reason for why Hyacinthus died. In the versions without him, Hyacinthus’ death is unexpected, and happens for no reason.” 

As he spoke, he leaned over the arm of the chair again, and he brought his arm over Jun’s back so he could pull him closer. He was warm, and even if Jun still felt a little worked up over the story, he was glad for the closeness.

“Tragedies can be easier to take in when we know why they happened, but the truth is, in real life, horrible things often happen for no reason whatsoever, and there’s nothing we can do but try our best to prevent them from happening...”

“It’s still not fair… In this version, he still made the discus kill Hyacinthus.”

“Maybe…” Akinari gave Jun’s shoulder a squeeze. “But maybe we can think of Zephyrus too- he loved Hyacinthus first, and he did what he did because he was hurting, blinded by jealousy and hatred. He’s had a lot of time to think over what he did, time to change, and time to regret. He must remember his sin every spring.”

“Maybe…” Jun said, gruffly.

“Zephyrus also gives our tragedy a reason, something that makes it more palatable. And whether with him or without him, with or without reason to begin with, Apollo gives reason to Hyacinthus’ end; a memory of love and life that will live on forever in the beauty of the hyacinth flowers. A love and a life that is remembered with every spring.”

To live on, remembered and loved forever in the form of a flower that comes back every year... it was poetic, Jun couldn’t deny that. And maybe Hyacinthus was doomed from the start, for being so adored, most of all by the gods. 

He could recall the meanings of hyacinths from the flower language books he often pored over. Games and sport, the very same that Hyacinthus excelled at, the same thing that killed him.. rashness, constancy, and a symbol of the god Apollo.

...Maybe Jun didn’t have to hate Zephyrus, in the face of inevitability and love, and jealousy and hatred, and reason. Maybe he could be forgiven, at least today, hundreds of years after the fact.

“...Maybe I’ll press some hyacinths this spring.” Jun murmured, tucking into his Papa’s side.

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> The tale of Hyacinthus here is a paraphrased version of the version of the story from A Book of Myths by Jean Lang, edited in places to make it a little easier for a child to understand, though many sentences are lifted verbatim from the text.


End file.
